


slip inside a dance with him

by fab_ia



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Overuse of the word 'fuck', first and second time, first names as intimacy, i say again - jacobi bites, jacobi's insufferable and i like to remind everyone of this, sort of non-linear timeline but not massively, uhm topcobi bottom kepler agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia
Summary: '“Just one question for you, sir” he says.“What is it, Jacobi?”“I’m wondering - did I get a little bitey last night?”'Plus: the subtleties of turtlenecks, workplace essentials, hogging the blankets, and clean shirts.
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	slip inside a dance with him

**Author's Note:**

> for van, who is an enabler and that i blame entirely for this

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Kepler says as his thumb slips off the button of the lighter without actually making use of the split-second the flame lives for to do anything at all. He pulls a face at it, considering the cigarette he holds loosely in his other hand before he sighs and slips it back into the box, lighter fitting in beside the remaining contents - which he then passes to Jacobi, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Would it kill you to get a better lighter, Jacobi?”

“I  _ have  _ a better one, sir,” Jacobi says, raising an eyebrow as Kepler’s eyes narrow into a glare. “What, was I supposed to read your mind and realize you wanted that one instead?”

He prides himself on being absolutely insufferable - much to Kepler’s chagrin a lot of the time, because he insists it’s all part of his charm - and he’s sure that he’s achieved it again going by the sharp exhale he earns as the only response. As he zips his jacket back up, the October air not quite cold enough to be a real bother but still  _ noticeable,  _ he watches Kepler adjusting the neck of his shirt where it’s rolled down a little and would think nothing of it at all if not for the hint of a mark he can see just beneath where the fabric sits. Any other day he’d think nothing of it at all, would probably turn it into a joke about Kepler getting lucky that would be met with a dirty look and an empty threat of some sort of punishment if Jacobi didn’t stop commenting on and prying into his personal life, but it isn’t any other day.

“Hey,” Jacobi says. “Hey, sir.”

“What?”

“Just one question for you,” he says, tempted to snort at the moment where Kepler shuts his eyes in a clear  _ God give me strength  _ expression. 

“What is it, Jacobi?”

“I’m wondering - did I get a little bitey last night?”

* * *

Miracle of all miracles, Jacobi had woken with only a slight headache to accompany the stale taste in his mouth - a cocktail of alcohol, ha, and sleeping without bothering to brush his taste leaving something clinging to his tongue and his teeth that he’s all-too-eager to get rid of as soon as he bothers to get out of bed. The lack of nausea comes as a surprise, since it’s something that usually accompanies waking up in the morning after a night where he’s had any more than two beers which he’s more than a little pissed about since it’s a noticeable change from his college days, where he could wake up the next morning and make it to his eight-thirty-am class running on two hours of sleep. 

The duvet is too thick for how warm the room is and there’s a spot beside him in the bed that’s still decently warm that he must have rolled into just before waking up. He yawns and stretches out, humming a little as his hip cracks.

“Oh,” Kepler says, silhouetted in the dim light coming through the slightly-parted curtains and entirely too cheerful, “good morning.”

“Is it,” Jacobi says through another yawn. “I hadn’t noticed. Shower?”

“All yours,” Kepler says.

Opting for what he usually classes as the ‘lazy and gross’ option, Jacobi sets his toothbrush and toothpaste into the organizer alongside his shampoo, shower gel, and - after a moment’s consideration where he weighs up the options for and against it - conditioner, turns the shower on to let the water heat up before he gets into the cubicle and stares at himself in the mirror. It’s comedic, honestly, and he’s a little surprised Kepler didn’t comment on the fact his hair’s sticking up in every direction in a way that looks more reminiscent of someone who’d stuck a fork into an outlet instead of someone entirely reasonable who’d had a decent night’s sleep.

“Bastard,” he mutters as he tugs his shirt off and over his head, wincing at the feel of his hair against his hand - it’s  _ gross  _ and he’s a little disgusted by it himself - staring at himself in the mirror again before taking off his shorts and turning to get in the shower.

He turns right the hell back around immediately, shifting so he can look over his shoulder at the reflection of his back in the almost-fogged-up glass and at the bright, unmissable, and unmistakable scratches down his entire back.

_ Holy shit,  _ he mouths, reaching around to run his fingers over one of them. They’re definitely new - he’s fairly sure they weren’t there two days ago - and the only logical conclusion he can come to is one that feels too earth-shattering to accept or even fully acknowledge, so he turns away from the mirror and lets the hot water run over him even if it makes the scratches sting like fuck.

Kepler doesn’t react at all to the sight of the scratches although Jacobi can’t be entirely sure that he even looked up while he was finding a clean shirt to pull on, which takes even more credibility from the theory he’d finished constructing while in the shower - one which had forced him to turn the water to cold and left him needing to take a few slow breaths to get some of the images out of his head - and leaves him wondering if he’s just become forgetful enough that he doesn’t remember going out with someone.

“We good to go, boss?” Jacobi asks, patting down his sides to check everything’s already in the pockets - Swiss Army Knife, phone, cigarettes, and gum, only the essentials - as he shrugs on his jacket before he crouches to tie the laces on his boots as Kepler leans back in his seat, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up and smiling, his favorite and go-to people-pleaser grin. “We’re good to go.”

* * *

If he were a less dignified man, Jacobi’s certain he would have just seen Kepler choke on his next breath instead of just a barely-noticeable widening of his eyes and tightening of his jaw. Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the exact spot it had been before Jacobi spoke, Kepler breathes out what’s likely intended to be a slight laugh. 

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you mean, Mr. Jacobi,” he says. There’s something in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, even if it’s not obvious. “If you mean  _ unnecessarily violent,  _ maybe so, but I wouldn’t say ‘bitey’ specifically. Unless you’re trying to imply some comparison between a dog and its master?”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“No, I didn’t think so.”

“It’s just not the most subtle thing to wear a turtleneck to try and hide hickeys,” Jacobi says, pancake-flat. A little in front of him, Kepler goes stock-still before he lets out a sigh, readjusting the neck of the shirt a little pointlessly before he turns around fully to face him rather than just casting a glance over his shoulder.

“What makes you think they’re from  _ you?”  _ Kepler asks, more than a little condescending. 

It’s bait - most days would see Jacobi biting and getting riled up at the implication he wouldn’t be good enough for Kepler to deign to allow him close enough to leave those marks there at all. It’s a low blow, reserved for days when self-worth doesn’t come without a struggle and Jacobi’s grasp on his anger is a little looser than it is the rest of the time, and usually only coming out when Kepler feels too close to being vulnerable or expressing some kind of humanity that he hadn’t given permission three working days in advance.

Jacobi’s not stupid - if anything, he takes offense to the suggestion that he could be, considering his degree, his work, and the fact that he’s got enough common sense to figure things out. There are more than enough clues for him to have gone back to his earlier theory with the thought that it might  _ actually  _ have some degree of truth to it at this point and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to compose himself, and tilts his head to the side to look at Kepler, all faux-innocence and a careful smile.

“Oh,” Jacobi says lightly, “just the scratches all down my back, sir.”

Slowly, Kepler blinks, which is practically an admission of him being utterly dumbfounded.

“The… what?”

_ Oh,  _ Jacobi thinks,  _ you weren’t looking this morning, then. _

This is, he realizes, the ace up his sleeve that he’s just laid out on the table. Kepler’s eyes flick from his face to his shoulder and back again, lips slightly parted - caught, for the first time in a  _ long  _ while, entirely off-guard.

“The scratches,” Jacobi says, leaning his back against the railing of the balcony - hiding the wince as best he can - and smiling brightly at Kepler. It isn’t the smug grin he  _ wants  _ to have on his face, instead one he’s put together that looks deliberately innocent. “Oh, sorry, did - didn’t you know, sir?”

“The scratches,” Kepler echoes.

“Yup,” Jacobi says, popping the p and biting down the laugh that’s made its way to his throat. “A word of advice, sir? If you’re gonna do that, you should probably cut your nails.”

A brief moment of silence before Kepler chuckles, shaking his head barely enough to be noticeable. “Mr. Jacobi,” he says, amused, “I think you’re jumping to an awful lot of conclusions, here.”

* * *

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ Kepler hisses, arching his back as Jacobi presses his lips to the side of his throat and sucks a mark there, pulling away for a second to admire his handiwork before he presses a kiss against it, lips curling up and into a smile as he fancies that he can feel his pulse pick up beneath his touch. “Jacobi - goddammit, could you - we still have to go out in  _ public _ tomorrow, don’t make it look like I’ve been eaten alive.”

Jacobi stops - perfectly still, ignoring the impatient sigh he can feel against the top of his head - before he sits up to meet Kepler’s eyes, raising an eyebrow as he rests a palm in the center of his chest, curling his fingers a little to dig his nails into the skin there. “But, Kepler,” he says, pouting and letting a whine slip into the words, “you look so  _ pretty  _ with these marks all over you. Pretty and utterly damn debauched, I’d say.”

“I wish you’d stop talking,” Kepler sighs. “Can you grant that one for me?”

“I’m not a fuckin’ genie,” Jacobi snorts, but leans down to kiss the slight marks from his nails anyway as Kepler lets his head drop back and onto the pillow with a slow exhale, closing his eyes. Glancing upwards, briefly, Jacobi presses his lips together in another smile at the sight of his eyelashes, dark against his skin where his eyes are shut - tightly, as though the very  _ idea  _ of seeing Jacobi with his face pressed against his bare skin is something he finds terrible. It doesn’t stop Jacobi kissing his stomach, the skin there a little softer with a little more give, shifting and letting his teeth drag against the skin as he shifts down to do it just over his hip.

Jacobi doesn’t expect Kepler to be loud.

Being particularly expressive isn’t something he’s ever associated with the man, and he’s proven right when he bites down on his shoulder and the only real response is a shaky breath and the tightening of his grip on the sheets at his side.

“Stop  _ teasing,”  _ Kepler says - almost snaps - as Jacobi presses his hand down on top of his pants, grinning at the hitch in his breath as he makes sure to trace his fingers against him. “Goddammit, Jacobi, I swear -”

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear you swear,” Jacobi says, looking up and feeling his grin get even larger as Kepler’s eyes widen at the sight of it. “I wanna hear you  _ scream.” _

* * *

_ I didn’t just jump,  _ Jacobi thinks as he meets Kepler’s gaze - steady and cold, probably almost a glare.  _ I’ve just leaped overboard, I’ve gone well over the goddamn precipice, this was a cliff and I’m on my way to the fucking ocean.  _

It’s the scientific method. Hypothesis, experiment, result. His hypothesis - that the two of them had slept together, because a lot of the previous night has been lost to something that isn’t quite a fog, too dark and thick for that, but that’s largely impenetrable and has left him with only hazy memories of a body beneath him and breath against his throat, coming to the surface now he’s committed to trying to unearth them. Hypothesis - they’d slept together and he’d fucked Kepler into the mattress while the man had been clinging to his back. Hypothesis - they’d made a choice, together, and now Kepler’s clearly unwilling to acknowledge it.

Experiment - push the questions, pry, watch his reactions. The unconscious tells he’s spent years committing to memory and learning all of, looking for the ones that mean Kepler knows what he’s talking about but doesn’t want to admit he does. Experiment - lean into him and hear his breath catch just a little, which he does, finally breaking eye contact as he takes a step forward, pushing off the iron railing and into Kepler’s personal space.

“Jacobi,” Kepler says. It’s not quite a warning, more just - something to say when Kepler can’t think of anything else. 

Jacobi hums, glancing down at his palms and brushing his palms off on his pants, small flakes of black paint clinging to the fabric rather than his skin. Kepler’s gaze flicks down, too, pressing his lips together a little more before he looks back at his face.

“I’m right,” Jacobi says quietly, “aren’t I, sir?”

It’s a gamble - it’s a  _ guess,  _ but Kepler closes his eyes, jerks his head downwards in a sharp nod.

“Yes,” he says, short and curt. “You are.”

Of course he is. They both know that Jacobi wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t working with at least a ninety-percent certainty that he was and that he would likely have stayed silent on a topic like this - one where he could face serious and genuine repercussions for saying the wrong thing - had he not been sure enough that he wasn’t wrong. 

_ I fucking wish I could remember this,  _ Jacobi thinks as he takes another half-step closer. This close, and with his eyes fixed on Kepler’s as they are, he can see the moment where they go to his lips and linger for a few endless moments before they meet his again. Before Kepler has a chance to say anything - he’s parted his lips a little, which is enough to warn Jacobi he’s about to start talking and likely do so for a  _ while  _ \- Jacobi decides,  _ what the hell,  _ and tilts his head up just enough to catch them in a kiss.

Predictably, and because it’s the case for seemingly everything he’s ever done in his life, Kepler’s a damn good kisser. There’s barely a second before he reacts and kisses back, lifting one hand up to cup the side of Jacobi’s face, his palm warm and a little rough, how he’s holding him undeniably  _ gentle,  _ so far from what Jacobi had initially expected from him that it quickly turns out that he’s the one caught off-guard.

“Oh,” Kepler says.

“Ah,” Jacobi says.

“That’s…”

“My bed’s inside,” Jacobi offers, raising an eyebrow at Kepler. “I mean, if you want.”

He’s fairly sure he made it before they left for that mission and it’s a pleasant surprise to find the sheets almost-tidy as they get inside, Kepler sitting on the edge of it and watching Jacobi lock the door to the balcony behind them. They’re likely not as clean as they could be but if all goes well, they’ll need to end up in the laundry anyway, a thought that brings a wry smile to his lips. Brow furrowed, Kepler eyes him, space on either side of him for Jacobi to sit down but, in his opinion, there’s a far better option that’s just as comfortable for the two of them.

“Oh, Christ,” Kepler says as Jacobi sits himself down on his lap, legs on either side of him and his weight resting on his thighs. “This feels familiar.”

“Oh, does it?” Jacobi tilts his head to one side as Kepler leans back to get a better look at his face, looking vaguely put out by the fact that Jacobi’s taken control of the situation so effortlessly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Incredibly so.”

_ Son of a bitch,  _ Jacobi thinks. 

“Does this?” he asks, before pulling Kepler’s face up and into a kiss.

It’s a far cry from the gentle one they’d shared earlier, more desperate and far needier, Jacobi shifting his hands a little further back from where they’d been resting on the sides of Kepler’s face to slide back and tug a little at the hair he finds there - short and soft, not enough to fully tangle his fingers in but still enough to pull at. Kepler, likely unwittingly, groans against his lips a little, the grip he has on Jacobi’s hips tightening for a long moment to the point he would swear he can feel nails through the fabric of his clothes.

“Fuck me,” Jacobi says, pressing his forehead against Kepler’s when they break apart to catch their breath, noting with pride that his own is far steadier, “you’re  _ so  _ hot.”

“Oh, charming,” Kepler says, eyes closed as Jacobi shifts so he can untuck his shirt and push it up a little, baring half of his stomach as he does. “You’re such a gentleman, really.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere, sir,” Jacobi snorts before pausing, frowning for a moment. “Or, honestly, shouldn’t you be the one calling  _ me  _ that? Since, y’know, it definitely seems like you’re not the one in charge here.”

“We’ve been over this,” Kepler sniffs, not reacting in any major way as Jacobi continues to push his shirt up his chest. “I’m not calling you that, but you can drop it for now. Just ‘Kepler’.”

“Uh-huh,” Jacobi lies, “I remember.”

_ Kepler,  _ he thinks, turning it over in his mind as he tries to get used to the shape of it, the sound - he doesn’t say it aloud as much as he maybe should, choosing instead to call him just ‘sir’ or ‘Major’.  _ Call him Kepler. _

He nods, slowly once and then more decisively, tapping two fingers over where he guesses Kepler’s collarbone is and leaning back so he can tug off the shirt and, for the first time, give Jacobi a good look at every mark he’d left the night before. There are more than he’d expected - considerably more, from where they were barely covered by the shirt at all down to his chest, where they easily stay secret. His favorites, he quickly decides, are the half-circle of them almost around the base of his throat that he traces with the edge of a nail, Kepler’s breath catching and goosebumps appearing as a result of his explorations. 

“You like being all marked up like this,” Jacobi says, maybe a little redundantly. Kepler hums, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he looks at Jacobi in a way that could well be a challenge.  _ What are you going to do now? _

Jacobi stands and takes a step away from the bed, a thrill running through him at the look of what can only be genuine confusion on Kepler’s face at the sudden loss of the weight and warmth of him in his lap, that only deepens when he gestures in his general direction. 

“Take your pants off,” Jacobi says, watching realization strike as Kepler lifts his hips to let his pants drop to the floor, a puddle of black beneath his feet after he toes off his socks until all he’s left wearing is his underwear, tucking his feet under a fold in the fabric as he watches Jacobi half-peel off his jeans, kicking them aside when he’s in a similar state of undress. Kepler’s brief study of Jacobi’s body does send a thrill through him - it’s only his eyes that move, as though savoring the view, and Jacobi takes the opportunity to do the same. 

“What now?” Kepler asks, his hands resting on his thighs and, Jacobi suspects deliberately, drawing attention to the slight tenting of the front of his underwear. 

“Now,” Jacobi says, slow, halfway to adopting the drawl Kepler does whenever he’s being unnecessarily smug or particularly insufferable for no reason other than his own enjoyment, “you’re gonna lie back on the bed for me, Kepler.”

“Am I.”

“Oh, yes,” Jacobi says, hoping his eyes look dark as he meets Kepler’s, his slight amusement apparent and  _ obnoxious.  _ He wants to wipe it off. He wants it gone. He doesn’t want to see that face, or any remotely like it, for the rest of the night.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to follow orders, Kepler,” he says lightly, “I know just how much you want to be underneath me.”

* * *

It’s a beautiful sight, in Jacobi’s opinion, as he looks up to watch Kepler’s jaw tighten in his efforts to hold back his noises while he strokes him. He’s hard and has been for long minutes by now, likely aching and desperate, because Jacobi had left him ignored and unsatisfied purely out of his own morbid curiosity - how much would it take to get the man to bend and break, how much would it take him to give up trying to save face and just let himself want? He brushes his thumb over the head of Kepler’s dick and smirks at the groan he doesn’t fully manage to hide, instead just catching it in his throat and having it cut off abruptly. 

_ Sensitive, huh,  _ he thinks, and repeats the action, going slower and paying particular attention to the way Kepler arches his back into the touch just a little, just enough to betray that he wants, that he  _ wants.  _

“Stop being a fucking tease,” he hisses, voice almost steady enough to be convincing if not for the waver through the word  _ fucking,  _ the way it had caught in his mouth and almost turned into something of a plea. 

“What’s the magic word?” 

The noise that escapes Kepler is practically a growl with his teeth grit and his hips jerking upwards just enough to betray how much he wants -  _ needs  _ \- Jacobi to move his hand and actually touch him. He’s been patient, Jacobi supposes, and there are parts of him that desperately want to give up on playing at control to watch Kepler fuck his fist but there are far more that just want to watch him grow more frustrated until he -

_ “Fuck you,”  _ Kepler snaps. 

“That’s not it,” Jacobi says with a grin. From where he’s sitting between Kepler’s spread legs, it’s easy to run a hand up the inside of his thigh and feel him halfway to pulling away from the touch before he relaxes back into it. 

_ “Please,”  _ Kepler says, softer, the desperation in the word absolutely played-up in an attempt at mockery, but there’s something genuine in it that Jacobi has to stifle a laugh at. 

“Well, of course,” he says. “Since you asked so nicely.”

* * *

Kepler doesn’t scoff or bother arguing the point, instead opting just to roll his eyes as he lays back on the bed - a nice sight, Jacobi thinks, his sharp lines softened against the sheets in some combination of him being somewhere he associates so much with rest and  _ home,  _ as well as his position on the bed where he’s looking up, for once. It’s a little exhilarating and he sits down on the corner of the bed, looking him up and down - scarred,  _ yes,  _ and with the marks he’d left the night before on his throat, chest, and -

The decision to rest his fingers over the barely-there bruises on Kepler’s hips is one that’s mostly unconscious, and he whistles when he sees how they match up. It’s then he notices bites on the inside of Kepler’s thighs, too, and the man only sighs when Jacobi looks up at him, silently questioning. 

“I’d call it possessive rather than anything else,” Kepler says. His voice is flat, but there’s the barest hint of a flush to his cheeks that betrays the fact he’s affected by everything - the light touches, the silent exploration, whatever goddamn memory he has of the night before that Jacobi’s lost and is considering traveling back in time to strangle himself because of. 

“Does that mean you belong to me, then?”

Kepler laughs. “I’m not sure either of us are the sort of person who’d let another own them like a _pet,_ Jacobi.”

A good point. Jacobi tends to push and see how far the boundaries will stretch, which most people don’t like but faintly amuses Kepler - and Kepler, he’s just too  _ himself,  _ sense of humor a little jarring when you aren’t used to it and his lack of qualms regarding more morally-dubious situations off-putting at best. A good point, but it ruins the fantasy Jacobi had started to consider where he’d been imagining the circle of bruises on his throat as a collar, so he takes a moment to mourn it - gone before its time, sorely missed, never given a chance to become reality - and file it away for late nights and moments in the shower with only hot water and whatever he can picture alone. 

“I bet I could still make you kneel,” Jacobi says, not giving Kepler a chance to respond before they’re kissing again, desperate and this time  _ biting,  _ teeth against bottom lips and a desperate, too-loud noise that Jacobi’s sure Kepler would deny making under threat of torture. If their first kiss of the night had been soft - like silk, maybe, or whatever expensive fabric Kepler’s own bedsheets are likely made of - then this is sandpaper, far rougher and  _ far  _ more what Jacobi had anticipated. 

It might well be the case that he’s laid out on the bed with Jacobi’s weight pressing him into the mattress and that Jacobi might definitely be the one in control in this situation, but Kepler doesn’t submit to him at all. He pants into the kiss - every moment they break away from each other is a chance to gasp for a hurried breath before leaning back in again for it - and he’s shifting under him, hips moving, something Jacobi doubts he’d notice if he wasn’t looking for any sort of reaction from the man at all. They’re both hard, practically pressed against each other even through their underwear, and in a moment where he feels  _ particularly  _ vicious Jacobi shifts so he can press his leg against Kepler’s dick just to hear him choke on his breath and groan at the sudden pressure, attempting to rock against it while still not being obvious about the fact.

If he was braver, he’d tell Kepler that it’s cute.

“Are you going to touch me?” Kepler asks, pushing through the question despite the way his voice shakes and that he’s still, more or less, attempting to grind against Jacobi’s dick. He lets out a short breath, tipping his head back against the pillow. “I thought you were only a tease last night because we were drinking, not because it’s part of your goddamn - _ah_ \- personality, Jacobi.”

“You want me to stop?”

“What I  _ want,”  _ Kepler says, “is for you to get on with it.”

It would be a lie if Jacobi said he didn’t want to get on with things just as much as Kepler clearly does - it’s purely the fact he’s avoiding any pressure against his dick that has him slightly more clear-headed - but there’s an equal temptation to make a good attempt at seeing just how far he’s going to be allowed to push things. He lets out a slow breath as he shifts on the bed until there’s enough space for him to hook his fingers into the waistband of Kepler’s underwear and start tugging at them, aided by Kepler lifting his hips a little, and he ducks out of the way so he can nudge the cloth onto the ground, halfway in the center of the room.

_ Huh,  _ Jacobi thinks, blinking,  _ this is actually happening, isn’t it. _

Maybe it should have hit a little before this point - he’s been all but getting him off through his underwear for minutes, now, so the sudden sight of Kepler’s dick and the newly-revealed hip bones along with it - but it’s only just really struck him that they’re about to have sex. 

“You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen someone without clothes on before,” Kepler says, lifting his hand from where it had been resting on the bed as if to wrap around his dick. “Which I  _ know  _ is a lie, Jacobi.”

Jacobi snorts and grabs at his wrist, moving quicker than Kepler had quickly anticipated, taking the opportunity and pushing his arm over his head, holding it down and pushing it into the pillow. Kepler breathes in sharply, eyes wide and  _ dark,  _ too, and the next breaths that follow are heavy which is what makes him realize his stomach is about an inch above his dick and, well,  _ shit. _

“I’ve seen people naked before,” Jacobi says, lip curling as he shifts his weight to lift Kepler’s other hand up and above his head - which Kepler lets him do without any fight at all, pliant as he studies Jacobi’s face before he tries to tug them out just a little with a grin that quickly falls into genuine bewilderment as Jacobi keeps talking. “I just haven’t seen  _ you  _ naked before, Kepler.”

Kepler blinks and laughs, a little caught off-guard. “Yes, you - what are you talking about?”

“Oh, shit,” Jacobi murmurs, “last night.”

“Did you  _ forget?” _

“Shut up,” Jacobi snaps. “Fuck off. Jesus.”

“You only had  _ three glasses _ of -”

“Do you want me to fuck you or d’you just want me to tie you to the goddamn bed and leave you here?”

Kepler shudders. Jacobi blinks.

“Would you… actually like -”

“Shut your mouth, Jacobi,” Kepler says. “Are you going to touch me or  _ not?” _

Jacobi smiles and shifts again, making sure to trail his hands down Kepler’s sides just to watch the man stiffen and his hips jerk into the air at the shiver - hands still held above his head, even though he hadn’t been told to keep them there at all and there’s nothing stopping him from flipping them over and taking control over the entire situation.

“Close your eyes,” Jacobi says, quietly, watching to ensure that he does before he leans down to lick a stripe up the side of Kepler’s dick. A strangled noise escapes him but, after a glance upwards, Jacobi can see that his eyes are still closed, tightly, lips parted as he takes in another breath that turns into a groan when Jacobi does the same thing again.

Jacobi’s willing to admit that he’s thought about doing this before, albeit in a different circumstance - he’d imagined Kepler in his desk chair while he was settled on his knees, his head tilted back and gasping for every breath - and he’s  _ also  _ willing to admit that he genuinely enjoys sucking dick. Judging by the way Kepler’s body tenses, he’s struggling to keep his hands above his head instead of burying them in Jacobi’s hair as he takes his dick into his mouth.

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ Kepler gasps, groaning as Jacobi slowly moves his head. “Are you actually trying to k- ah - to kill me?”

Jacobi hums instead of moving so he can give a real answer, and Kepler groans again at the vibration.

It’s a little funny, Jacobi thinks, sitting up and blowing cold air against the head and raising his eyebrow when Kepler makes another desperate noise. It’s funny, because he’s fairly sure that Kepler’s convinced Jacobi’s going to let him come like this. He doesn’t plan on it - he’ll suck his dick, sure, and he takes it back into his mouth just to hear him attempt to hold back his groan, but he doesn’t want Kepler to come like this at all. He’ll push himself, though, take as much as he can into his mouth and listen to the wordless noise that gets cut off halfway through likely out of embarrassment.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his head but still keeping it between Kepler’s thighs, only bothering to look up at him through his eyelashes, “you mind getting the lube from the drawer, second one down?”

“Mmh?”

“I mean,” Jacobi says, “unless you just want me to use spit -”

Kepler sighs, knowing full-well that Jacobi  _ would  _ do that, and they adjust again so that he can reach for the drawer and pass a half-empty bottle to Jacobi with a look of judgment that he resolutely ignores - it isn’t Kepler’s business what he does in his spare time,  _ thanks a lot, kindly stop judging me. _

His own underwear joins Kepler’s on the floor and he lets out a sigh as he reaches to wrap around himself that he’s  _ needed,  _ aching since their second kiss, and Kepler isn’t subtle about the fact he’s staring. And if he’s staring he must want a show, Jacobi thinks, so he bites his lip and spreads his legs a little between Kepler’s, practically on display and on his knees, his other hand going to his chest and barely, loosely, wrapping around his own throat as he lets out a low groan.

“Jacobi,” Kepler says, quiet, “I  _ get it,  _ you’re very attractive.”

“Thank you,” Jacobi breathes, knowing that the quieter he keeps his voice the less obvious the shaking is, “I know.”

“You don’t need to do this to prove it, I already -”

“I don’t think you’re actually in a position to try and demand anything, Kepler,” Jacobi snorts, patting the inside of his thigh and snickering at the way he noticeably bristles at it but spreads his legs a little wider anyway. 

He takes two fingers inside him easily and Jacobi keeps his eyes on Kepler’s face as he twists and curls his fingers just a little at just the right moment. He moans outright, clearly without meaning to if the almost-betrayed look in his eyes is anything to go by, his cheeks flushed as Jacobi starts to move his hand, slowly fucking him with his fingers and watching him try to hold down his noises by biting down on his lip,  _ hard.  _ It’s hot, in all honesty, but it would be a lie to say that it isn’t  _ funny as hell  _ when he mutters “fuck” as has to lick away blood where it had started to head after he’d bitten down a little too hard, bringing it to the surface of a recently-healed split that likely aches. Jacobi snickers at his wince and carefully adds another finger, eyes fixed on Kepler’s face and how he relaxes after the initial wince, a quiet sigh escaping him as he’s slowly,  _ slowly,  _ fucked open.

“Stop trying to be quiet,” Jacobi tuts after another few minutes of it, Kepler growing redder and the tiny noises he’d been letting out almost pleading, “I  _ want  _ to hear you, idiot.”

“You’ve got neighbors,” Kepler says, voice impressively level considering the fact Jacobi’s pressing fingers against his prostate in an attempt to see how quickly he can get Kepler to the edge of orgasm before leaving him unsatisfied. “I’m being - I’m being  _ considerate,  _ Daniel.”

“That’s cute,” Jacobi says, flat. 

Kepler scoffs and screws his face up a little as Jacobi pulls his fingers out of him, wiping them on the sheets - if it weren’t his apartment, he’s sure he would face comments on  _ cleanliness  _ and how unsanitary the act is - before he reaches for the bottle again and flicking the cap open. For a few seconds he stares and he thinks, ignoring the imploring look Kepler’s giving him.

“Hurry up,” Kepler says, “you’re doing all of this  _ deliberately,  _ aren’t you?”

“That’s need to know,” Jacobi says cheerfully, flicking the side of his knee to earn a hiss even as Kepler glares at him all while he pours more lube into his hand and onto his cock, failing completely at staying silent while imagining fucking into him - because, well, most of his memories from the night before are essentially just gone, but there’s a vague one of Kepler panting against his ear, of being pulled closer by warm hands, and he can’t really deny how much he’s the one wanting, now.

“Don’t fucking  _ tease,”  _ Kepler groans, covering his eyes with one forearm when, instead of pushing into him like they both clearly and desperately want, Jacobi just presses the head of his cock against him, shifting to grind his against Kepler’s where it’s brushing his stomach. “Jacobi, I know I made the mistake of telling you that your tenacity is impressive, but this is absolutely not the time.”

Jacobi chuckles. “Ask nicely.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“That’s not nice.”

“I - fuck - please.”

“Nicer.”

“Jacobi,  _ please.” _

“Mmh, nope.”

“Please, Daniel, come  _ on.” _

“Come on,  _ Warren, _ is that really the best you can do?” Jacobi raises an eyebrow at him and thrusts, again, biting his tongue at the sudden friction and the absolutely filthy groan that escapes Kepler. “I thought you were a nice, well-mannered guy…”

“God, please,” Kepler breathes, clenching his fist as Jacobi bends and presses a kiss as near to his collarbone as he can. “This is so - please just fuck me, or touch me, I don’t even - just - please, Jacobi, Daniel, _please.”_

_ He’s cute when he’s all desperate like this,  _ Jacobi thinks in the moments before he pushes in because, as soon as he does, all possibility for rational thought flies entirely out of the window. He groans, low and louder than he’d really meant, but Kepler fares no better - a sharp gasp and a noise that, from anyone else, could well be called a whimper that’s silenced when Jacobi bends down to kiss him again. Still biting, still bruising, still absolutely desperate as Jacobi slowly starts to move, groaning into his mouth at the same time that Kepler gasps out a “fuck,  _ please”. _

Jacobi’s never really been able to say no to Kepler so he does as he asks - fucks him, giving up on clinging to the last threads of self-control and bending to bite at his neck again before he adjusts so he can fuck into him deeper, rougher, with one hand cupping his jaw and his thumb brushing over Kepler’s lips until he parts them and takes it into his mouth.

“Oh, that’s hot,” Jacobi murmurs, voice tight.

Kepler hums, still covering half of his face with his arm as Jacobi keeps moving, with the realization that he’s already a lot closer than he’d initially realized and that outside of the hum, Kepler’s making little noises at every movement, every single touch. Everything about it is, as he’d already said quietly,  _ hot,  _ incredibly so, and it betrays the extent of his desperation just from this, without even really being touched. Jacobi’s a hell of a lot closer than he’d thought, too, worked up from the sight of Kepler like this, the knowledge that he had free reign to do practically whatever he likes to him. To tease him, like he had, fuck him like this - he thinks Kepler might even have let him genuinely tie him to the bed or at least his wrists together which, well, he files it away with the rest of the ‘fantasy material’ or for a potential scenario on another night. Maybe, he thinks as he fucks into him particularly hard and earning another moan around his thumb, he should be a little more put-out by that than he is - he’s thirty goddamn years old and rhe gets  _ this  _ worked up just by teasing someone, a fact that really makes it feel more like he’s in college and he’s got someone in bed with him for the first time

“God, Warren,” Jacobi says, closing his eyes and tightening the grip he has on Kepler’s chin for a second, “you make such pretty noises.”

“Please,” Kepler says, again, letting Jacobi’s thumb go from his mouth and wipe his own spit against them, leaving them slick and shiny. He says it as though it’s the only word he can think of anymore; as though his world has been reduced, if only for this evening, to Jacobi’s bedroom, his bed, every inch where their skin is pressed together. All either of them need to focus on, for now, is the sound of their breathing and their quiet noises, Kepler’s growing in volume as Jacobi loses a grip on any sort of rhythm and just chases his own orgasm. Kepler clearly likes it just like this, if the fact his cock is practically dripping and the flush covering his cheeks and spreading to his chest is anything to go by, so Jacobi doesn’t feel too guity about the fact he’s sacrificed a steady pace just to have it feel better for himself.

He pulls Kepler up and into another bruising kiss before he makes another decision that can be thrown onto the burning pile he’s starting to build up in his mind with a label of  _ fuck it,  _ one that happens fairly quickly. Jacobi presses his face against Kepler’s throat, rubs his cheek there for a second before he turns and bites down on his shoulder as he gets to the point where he just can’t hold back anymore, bottoming out and moaning his name -  _ fuck, Warren  _ \- as he comes.

Kepler sobs - there’s no other word for it, he  _ sobs,  _ digging his nails into Jacobi’s back to leave painful reminders of the scratches already there, and when Jacobi lifts his face to look into his he can see tears in the corners of his eyes and the light that catches on his damp cheeks while he’s trying to catch his breath. It’s ragged, it’s rough, and Jacobi pulls him into another kiss before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing - before he has a chance to glance down and see that Kepler had come practically untouched, come clinging to each of their bare stomachs.

“Are you - crying?” Jacobi asks like an idiot when they break the kiss, foreheads pressed together. Kepler snorts, making an attempt to glare at him in the position they’re in before giving up and just letting himself relax - smiling, just barely, before he fights that expression off too.

“Of course not,” Kepler says, vaguely amused. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jacobi says, leaning in for another short and chaste kiss, pressing another to his cheek and ignoring the way Kepler huffs when he presses the tip of his tongue to the skin there, tasting salt just from the brief contact. “You good?”

“Just fine,” Kepler says, wincing a little as Jacobi pulls out before tugging him closer. He lets his head fall forwards a little, onto his shoulder, pressing his face against Jacobi’s shoulder and taking a slow breath. “That was -”

“Good,” Jacobi says, finishing the sentence for him - and ignoring the frustrated sigh it earns him - as he brings a hand up to run through the back of Kepler’s hair. “It was good. Did I ruin you for other men? Make you realize I’m the best you’ll ever have?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kepler snorts.

“Ah,” Jacobi nods, pressing his cheek against Kepler’s head. “Not yet, then. It’ll take a few more nights like this to do that.”

“I thought I said not to flatter yourself.”

“Aw, well, you know me,” Jacobi grins. “I just can’t resist an opportunity to stoke my own ego.”

* * *

“It’s late,” Kepler says as he’s stretching up after pulling a pair of loose shorts on, glancing down and over to the bed where Jacobi’s badly-stifling a yawn. It’s not his fault - he’s  _ worn out,  _ a combination of the adrenaline finally having stopped running through him, the usual post-mission exhaustion, the drinks he’d had, and the slight crash that comes after sex. He’s tired, and he’s planning to put the blame entirely on Kepler’s shoulders because, technically, all of it  _ is  _ his fault - as repayment, Jacobi’s planning to hog the sheets all night, because he might still be tired when he wakes up in the morning, but he sure as hell won’t be cold.

Not bothering to respond out loud, Jacobi just hums, rolling his eyes as Kepler sits on the bed and leans over to look down at him, face shadowed and just as unreadable as ever.

“You mind if I share?”

“Never have before,” Jacobi sighs, “but you’d  _ better not  _ snore, I swear to God.”

“You’re the one who snores - never mind,” Kepler says, a little amused, stretching out his legs before he shoves Jacobi over a little, sighing contentedly as he lays down and stares up at the ceiling. 

Shooting a glare at him, Jacobi obligingly moves over anyway and turns his back to Kepler, letting him take over the space he’s attempting to claim because if he’s anything, he’s a  _ very  _ good coworker who’s always more than willing to make things better for the people he knows and trusts but he’s also selfish - hence, he’s keeping the duvet to keep himself warm. Largely because Kepler left the AC on, like the asshole he is, and if he doesn’t want to fight him for them he can go and turn it off. The rest because he’s just genuinely  _ tired,  _ and he sleeps better the warmer he is.

It takes a few minutes, the room silent besides their steady breathing and the rattle of the room’s AC unit, before Kepler moves again - ignoring Jacobi’s predictable groan at the shifting of the mattress - and slots himself into place behind him, pulling Jacobi in and close against his chest. The embrace is nice, albeit unexpected, and he makes an inquisitive noise that’s met with a pleased hum from Kepler. Wordless communication, he figures. They’re pretty good at that.

“Fuckin’ space heater,” Jacobi murmurs. 

“Go to sleep, Jacobi.”

“I’m gonna  _ roast.” _

“Sleep,” Kepler says again, but doesn’t stop himself chuckling. “It’s been a long day.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re going home so you can wear clean clothes to work tomorrow,” Jacobi snorts, leaning his shoulder against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Kepler lacing up his boots by the front door to his apartment. “What, are you too good to wear the same shirt for two days? Other people do that all the time.”   
Kepler says nothing but pulls a face that Jacobi’s fairly sure means  _ that’s disgusting but I’m pretty sure you do it so I’m not going to actually say that so you don’t sulk about it.  _ He brushes his hair out of his face, soft and without gel holding it back after the shower he’d insisted he take before going home - Jacobi’s sure that he just wanted to take the opportunity to be a pain in his ass and use his hot water and his products, likely having rearranged them so he can amuse himself by imagining the irritation it’ll cause - and looks up at Jacobi for a moment before shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he says.

“Oh, I know,” Jacobi says. “I thought that was why you liked me so much.”

“I  _ don’t  _ like you,” Kepler says but he’s grinning anyway, mostly hidden as he ties a double-knot and entirely gone when he stands and brushes his hands off on his pants. “I’m waiting for the best moment to kick you out on your ass.”

“Aw, but you  _ like  _ my ass.”

“Shut up,” Kepler says, looking back for a moment with one foot out of the apartment, half-turned towards Jacobi. “Debriefing is at nine sharp tomorrow morning, Jacobi. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Jacobi says, offering him a salute. “I’ll be there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“See that you are,” he says, and lets the door swing shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna lie this is my first real attempt at writing actually explicit nsfw fic like this dfjhfd
> 
> title from 'Letter to My Blackout' by maria hummel, found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/150043/letter-to-my-blackout


End file.
